The Dual of Dusk
by Blizpeak
Summary: [Post Book Four] After the call of duty to Sir Thursday was served, Arthur is forced to finish his dreaded council. Unbeknownst to those in the Dayroom, Superior Saturday's Dusk decides to pay a visit. Monday's Noon vs. Saturday's Dusk. Two chapters.


Saturday's Dusk drummed his fingers nonchalantly on the curve of his cane, poised at point on the floor of the elevator as it made its brisk descent into the Lower House.  
He held the envelope that allowed him passage cordially in his left gloved hand, stamped with an S seal of crimson wax, just managing the folds of the crisp yellowed parchment paper.  
Pausing a moment to adjust the brim of his gleaming top-hat, he shifted his weight so as not to be thrown by the abrupt stop of the elevator as it reached his floor. His fingers itched to straighten his bow tie, before remembering that this wasn't a particularly important call.  
Or, rather, the Denizen whom he was calling upon was not considered important by his Master, Superior Saturday. But the duty itself...yes, that was essential.

With a soft bell-tone and automated reminder to watch his step, the doors slid open.

His lacquered dress boots clacked upon the tile within the otherwise empty receiving hall as he approached his destination, where if all tasks completed successfully, of course he might leave with information on how to apprehend Saturdays new dilemma, the ever illusive Lord Arthur.

Monday's Dayroom.

"Hello? Yes, this is she," Dame Primus huffed into a nearby black telephone perched precariously upon the edge of a desk, thereby wedged between multitudes of stacked papers and volumes that littered every available space.  
"No, no," she frowned, standing from her chair and pacing to a nearby window, framed with lightly sprayed ferns, "Lord Arthur will not be taking messages at this time. According to Sector Three of the Original Law, both Factions 245 and 337 equally state that -"  
Here she was cut off, a mild buzzing noise erupting from the other line. Apparently the caller found it wise not to endure more of Dame Primus lecture than needed.  
"Yes," she finally finished. "Good day."

She hung the phone upon its base once more with a slight huff, a wisp of hair dangling from her ever-prim bun. However, today it was clouded with fly-aways, and a film of light perspiration coated her face and neck.  
From across the dayroom, Arthur massaged his temples in an attempt to soothe his third oncoming migraine that morning.  
Suzy Turquoise Blue sat on a chair beside him, dangling her feet and staring at the ground distractedly.  
"Are we almost through here?" Arthur asked finally, looking up to the desk.

"Lord Arthur," Dame Primus spoke, tight-lipped and firm, "you do realize that during your call of duty to Sir Thursday we never completed our Council?"  
Arthur rolled his eyes to the ceiling, practically mouthing along the very words that Dame Primus next spoke.  
"Our Council to Discuss Various Troublesome Matters Pertaining to the House, the Release of the Will of the Architect, the Assumption of the Rightful Heir, and other Diverse Matters."

It seemed that with each new addition to the Original Will, Dame Primus grew all the more fixated and irritating. Of course he had realized; it had been their focus from the previous evening to the crack of Dawn, and into the early morning.

"Noon!" she snapped impatiently.

Monday's Noon, whom had been standing behind Dame Primus and had presided for the morning as well, knew this cue. He quickly readied his quill upon a piece of loose parchment, glancing swiftly at an inkwell upon the desk to be sure that it was filled.  
"At your leave, Madame," he recited.  
"Don't worry," Suzy whispered to Arthur, whom had slouched over, head in his hands.  
"We've covered most of it. I bet we only have the Diverse Matters to deal with, anyhow."

"Monday's Tierce," Dame Primus snapped, arms crossed.

"What have I told you about your uniform within the Dayroom?"  
Suzy groaned.  
"I was hoping she'd forgotten," she whispered sidelong again towards Arthur. Arthur, too, remembered the formal gown that Suzy had been forced into, having seen it first hand on the submarine when taking care of Wednesday.  
"And please," Dame Primus sighed quite unexpectedly, before settling into her chair behind the desk, "bring a tray of tea and crepes from the kitchens. I need to clear my head."  
This brightened Arthur up a bit; he wasn't a fan of crepes any, but he rarely heard Dame Primus digress that she needed a break.

Suzy, muttering something about the uselessness of dresses, slid from her seat and semi-jogged from the stuffy dayroom.

No one noticed the slight shadow before the foggy glass of the exit door - the very door which Suzy now slid open, slipping quietly out.

"Now," Dame Primus continued, pulling a very large volume from the desktop onto her lap, "we shall continue on to Diverse Matter number One, Section A -"  
"How many sections are there?" Arthur asked hesitantly, knowing that Dame Primus became a little testy when pushed for time.  
However, she seemed to be slightly distracted, flipping through the pages as she skimmed the numerous columns of numbers and figures.  
"26, covering every letter in the alphabet," she answered, finally finding the chapter of Diverse Matters, mildly pleased.  
Arthur and Monday's Noon gave each other a headlong glance.  
"Diverse Matters?" Noon asked, seemingly preoccupied.  
Dame Primus stopped.

"Noon, if you recall, you received the amount earlier yesterday evening. 5, 776."  
"Ah, yes...of course," he muttered, making a small note as he watched Arthur's jaw fall to the floor.

"As I was saying," she began, steeling Noon with her scrutinizing gaze as he began to record her speech, "Diverse Matter number One brings to our attention the need for attendants within the realm of Grim Tuesday unto the task of filling the pit of Nothing; Section A being the more specific need of Nothing-guarded equipment..."  
Arthur briefly tuned out the Will for a moment, knowing that what she was saying was being written down anyway; regardless, she would most likely repeat her statements several times over before they could move on.  
He leaned back against the worn green leather of the office chair, stretched his bruised legs and briefly wondered where Suzy was getting on with those crepes.

"Ah, yes Noon, a key observation indeed. I believe the inquirer to Section Z of Diverse Matter number One-Hundred Eighty-Nine was indeed misguided into his believing that...Lord Arthur Penhaligon!" Dame Primus shrieked, laying eyes on the form of sprawled-out Arthur for the first time during the lengthy proceedings of their council.

Arthur awoke from his nap, wetting his papery dry mouth and blinking in the harsh - though fake - sunlight streaming into Monday's Dayroom. It seemed that he had dozed off somewhere along the way. He could blearily recall a dispute over Diverse Matter number Ninety-Seven before everything went dark...

"Would you please try to refrain from such a luxury at this time?"  
Arthur nodded, though a splitting yawn ruined the moment entirely.  
Noon also had begun to yawn, though stopped sharply in the process by one of Dame Primus death glares.  
"...Sorry, Madame."

With a large sigh ending in somewhat of a groan Dame Primus stood from her seat. Arthur could have sworn that her height had shrunk over the very long and dreary course of their council.

"Right," she deemed, taking a random leaflet of papers and straightening them upon their stack, "I believe that a small break is in order...where is Monday's Tierce? She was due to arrive with the hors d'oeuvres exactly five hours, fifty-two minutes and seventeen seconds ago."

Noon frowned.

"She got to escape..." Arthur muttered grumpily, finally standing from his chair for a small walk about the Dayroom; for the first time during his stays at the House, the chamber seemed inevitably cramped.  
"What was that?"  
"...Nothing, nothing..."

"Sneezer," Dame Primus snapped impatiently, turning towards a slimmer side-door.

At once Sneezer appeared, the butler appearing ignorant to the fatigue or general stress and commotion of the Dayrooms occupants.

"Yes, Madame?" he inquired, approaching Dame Primus and making to stand by her side after a small bow.  
"Could you kindly locate Monday's Tierce for the company?" she asked, attempting to remain rational.  
"Certainly, Madame," he bowed once more, turning fluidly and crossing the room to open the door.

A gloved hand shot from behind the heavy laden mock-Oak, gripping the startled butler by the shirt collar, cutting him off in a choke-hold.

At once Arthur and Mondays Noon sprang to awareness; Arthur grabbing the hilt of the Fourth Key, still on his person, and Noon reaching for his own blade strapped to his side at all times.  
"Please!" the butler motioned to them, waving his free hand - the other fastened about the gloved one restricting his breathing.

"Steady your weapons! I do say, lower them!"

Confused, Arthur and Noon lowered their swords.

"He says," Sneezer gasped, evidently speaking for whomever was behind the door to the Dayroom, "to clear the room. Everyone has to leave at once!"  
"But," Arthur began in protest, taking a step towards the butler, when Noon silenced him with a wave of his hand.

Quietly, Noon pointed first to himself, then to a nook both between a bookshelf, directly behind the cracked door.

Arthur agreed with a nod, but signed that he needed to stay as well.

Noon violently shook his head, pointing vigorously towards the side door.

A few seconds of their silent argument commenced, while Dame Primus - for the first time Arthur could remember - held her tongue, looking between the two in condensed panic.

Finally, Arthur relented.

"I say, whatever is going on in there?" Sneezer called, color fading from his bluish-tinted face from lack of air.

Arthur looked to Noon one last time before crossing to the side door. He made a large show of noisily opening the door, and guiding Dame Primus and himself out again.  
After the door was closed, Noon noiselessly asserted himself in the small space behind the open door; hidden for the moment, but would be in plain view once the occupant of the Dayroom closed the door once more.

Holding his breath, he was able to hear some hurried whispers before Sneezer was released with a clatter to the floor. Rather than returning to the Dayroom, however, Sneezer raced down the previous hall, and through a second unknown passageway; most likely under direction from the stranger causing the trouble.  
Noon watched, sword clenched in his sweaty palm as the shadow of whomever stood outside lengthened, stepping into the room.  
First one boot, then a hand, then the side of whomever the deity was became visible to Noon; a sight that he knew all too well.

Suddenly a silver blade erupted from the Dayroom, a whistle in the air before it hit its mark quivering in the wall an inch or so above Noon's head.  
He looked to the desk.  
Saturday's Dusk stood there, hand still extended from it's withdrawal, only his eyes revealing his incredulous mirth.

"Hello again, Monday's Noon," he whispered, his voice dangerously soft, striking a chord within Noon that chilled him to the bone.  
"Saturday's Dusk," he acknowledged, stepping from the wall behind him with a slight clearing of his throat, ignoring the cane-blade waving from its point above his head.

Dusk grinned - a brilliantly white, toothy grin, most likely the envy of many an Upper House Denizen. However, at the moment it did little more than lower Noon's self confidence.  
"Let us talk," Dusk began, his voice re-asserting itself to its normal airy tone as he straightened himself up again and adjusted his tie. His eyes glinted with excitement, betraying his intentions.  
"Ah," Noon nodded, pulling his blade from it's scabbard and twirling it expertly before pointing it in Dusks direction.

"Do let's."


End file.
